A BPRD Wedding
by Joelle Hart
Summary: Thirteen years after they fell in love, Hellboy and Liz have a more or less traditional wedding. Told from the POV of Kate Corrigan. This story forms a bridge between my post-"Golden Army" fic, "After the Fairytale", and its sequel, "Black Sheep".


Weddings are difficult to plan at best. There are guest lists, menus, floral arrangements, bridesmaids, seating charts, vows, and scores of other decisions to be made. Now, add the constant and unsolicited advice of a crew of opinionated military and government agents, clairvoyants, scholars of the esoteric, soothsayers, and eccentrics. Add a bride who declares her undying allegiance to chocolate or salmon or purple, then changes her choice with all the sudden conviction with which she once switched between the Bureau and the asylum. Add a groom who states that any decision is fine with him, and then strides in at the last moment to shatter weeks of carefully-laid plans with a single sentence: "Don't you think Liz would like it better THIS way?"

Forget coordinating month-long trips to the Himalayas to search for yeti. This wedding was a logistical nightmare.

Somehow we managed to pull it together, though.

Eleven months of dating. Six years of raising two children and maintaining a home. Four years of separation from each other and from the children. And now, ten months after being reunited at the B.P.R.D. - almost thirteen years after they first fell in love - Liz and Hellboy were finally getting married.

They quit the B.P.R.D. a few days after Liz discovered she was pregnant. In the years of running and hiding that followed, they had never had time to worry about something as ceremonial as a wedding, and a couple of precariously kept secrets couldn't exactly walk into a courthouse and sign a contract with their real names. To be honest, even if they had stayed at the Bureau, I doubt they would have gotten a ceremony – Tom Manning's administration wouldn't have taken them seriously. Things are different under my watch, though. I make it a point of pride that I did everything I could to see they had all the pomp and circumstance any couple could hope for (much as I cursed my workaholic nature afterwards for making me agree to oversee such a huge undertaking).

Even the question of what they would wear was loaded. Liz said that she would feel disrespectful, if not ridiculous, if she got married wearing white under the roof of a devout Catholic like Trevor Bruttenholm when she had eleven-year-old children. So after many late-night conferences – conferences that probably should have been spent planning our next offensive against the undead – we decided on an Autumn theme for the wedding. We draped Liz in rich green and crowned her with Autumn leaves of purple, red, and gold. She looked radiant. Liz has always been beautiful, but in everything I've seen of her before she left with Hellboy, there was something about her like a petulant child. The ten years in the meantime gave her a graceful sort of maturity which she wore well (although the impish Liz with the biting wit never left – grew sharper teeth, if anything).

Clothing Hellboy was both easier and more difficult. He quickly settled on a simple tuxedo, but the question of how to accommodate his right hand was much stickier. Our in-house tailor agreed to rip out the seams along the right arm and armpit, although he said it pained him to mangle such a nice jacket so thoroughly. Nobody wanted to have the job of sewing a nervous Hellboy into the coat just before the ceremony, so we decided to fit it with a zipper so he could get in and out of it easily by himself. Then there was the issue of overall size. Years of forced retirement and hard living had left Hellboy looking frankly wasted compared to his former self. After he started training to resume the taxing physical work of being our top field agent, and started up the protein-rich six-meal-a-day regimen he'd had before, he bulked up at an amazing rate. The tux had to be altered along the chest and arms twice between the official engagement and the actual ceremony.

All I can say is, thank goodness wedding rings are traditionally worn on the left hand.

And then the guest list. Christ on a cracker, the guest list. I had naively thought that a secret wedding in a secret organization wouldn't have to involve too many people. I had discounted the extremely high turnover rate of B.P.R.D. agents. When we asked Hellboy and Liz for the names of agents they had known during their years of work, we got a list a mile long. And then there was the little matter of these agents working for other underground organizations, or having retired to locations around the globe, or simply being some of the aforementioned eccentrics and jaunting off without telling anyone where they were going.

Abe Sapien had been more or less a nomad since he'd left the Bureau, but of course, Hellboy wanted him as best man. We did manage to get a hold of him just in time, though. He actually ended up staying with us for several months after that before he got tired of being tanked-in and left us for the ocean again.

We sent an invitation to John Myers, too. The reply, with congratulations and a gift and his regrets, came two months later, postmarked from St. Petersburg. John explained that he had transferred to the Russian Paranormal Investigative Bureau after his stint in Antarctica. He included a photo of himself with a sharp-eyed woman whose left hand rested tenderly on his shoulder and bore a ring; between them they held a blond cherub-cheeked infant.

Finally, we arrived at the ceremony itself. Liz knew our Catholic chaplain from when she had been a girl at the Bureau, so he agreed to play the part of her father and walk her down the aisle during the ceremony – and so our Protestant chaplain gave the sermon and administered the vows.

And we moved on to the reception.

We'd already given Liz her wedding gift, with the full expectation that she would start using it immediately: a professional-quality Nikon digital camera. She had been thrilled, and after taking a few photos herself she passed it along to the guests with exhortations to take lots of photographs. We complied, and the results filled an album with some of my favorite photos. Hellboy and Liz getting a little too enthusiastic about smashing cake in each others' faces. Sidney Leach, who was playing DJ, giving a tipsy but exuberant impromptu performance of "Baby Got Back". Roger wearing an elegant tuxedo jacket, bowtie, and cummerbund… and no pants. Ben with his eyes closed, looking almost peaceful… he swears up and down that he was falling asleep because the reception was so dull, but to me it looks for all the world like he's caught up in listening to a song.

At an opportune moment, after the meal and the cake and a good bit of dancing, I called for attention. Johann stomped to the table of honor with all the official dignity he possesses - which is quite a lot.

"It is time for you to receive your wedding gift, Agent Hellboy."

Hellboy put on a bashful expression. "You guys didn't have to get me anything. I've already got everything I need." He reached for Liz's hand and held it up. She positively beamed.

"Nevertheless," Johann continued, "You shall have it! But first you shall guess its identity." With a flourish, he handed a crisp paper card to Hellboy.

His eyes scanned it once, quickly. Then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he read it again, mouth moving slightly.

Johann prompted him. "Read the words to the guests, Agent Hellboy."

He complied, drawing out each syllable. "Because you've learned to like Germans". He looked back at Johann, visibly perplexed. "Didja bring me a bride? Because somebody already got me one of those."

Liz wrenched her hand from his and gave him a playful, but audible, slap on the arm.

I gave a signal to an agent at the door. She opened it to let in Roger and the gift.

We couldn't let Roger know what the gift was beforehand, because in his childlike exuberance he was sure to let the secret slip. To make it up to him, we asked him to be the one to present it to Hellboy. Sure enough, Roger announced the gift's identity loudly as soon as he was through the door.

"It's a puppy!"

It was actually a full-grown, canine-unit-caliber German Shepherd. Or, at least the qualities of a police dog were clearly somewhere in its genes, showing through in its solid bones and elegant face. This particular dog fell short of the muscled heft and proud stance of a police dog. It cowered as Roger pulled it in on a leash, staring at the crowd of new faces with frightened eyes.

Hellboy was captivated. He left his seat and, forgetting his tux, kneeled on the ground, trying to make himself look as small and unthreatening as possible. He cast his eyes to the side and held out his left hand, palm up.

Roger pulled the dog forward. It hung back against the leash, but when Roger slackened his grip, it didn't run. It stared at Hellboy for a long moment. The whole room waited, motionless. Finally, the dog crept forward and sniffed at Hellboy's hand. He stayed perfectly still, letting the dog take his scent, before reaching out a gentle finger to stroke its cheek.

I rose from my seat and approached them. When I got close I could hear Hellboy speaking to the dog in a low murmur: "There's a good dog. You're okay. Good dog."

He looked up at me and said, "I haven't had a dog since I was a kid."

"This is Ike," I told him, "short for Eisenhower. We got him from a Shepherd Rescue Organization." I leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. "Do you see that bald spot on the back of his neck? He'd been kept on a chain constantly for most of his life. They think he's been abused too – see how skittish he is? The adoption agents told me they were hesitant to let him be adopted by a family with children – usually Shepherds are great with kids, but if they've been mistreated, they can sometimes get scared and react unexpectedly. But we figured, no way he can hurt you. But this dog is going to need a lot of patience, and a lot of care and love. Do you think you're up to it?"

Hellboy's eyes didn't leave Ike. He nodded.

"Shepherds need a lot of exercise, and a lot of time to play. So we're going to make sure you get plenty of opportunity to take him outside."

Now Hellboy looked up at me. "Kate… this is the best gift ever. Thanks a million."

And in an instant, I was completely forgotten again as Hellboy turned back to Ike. "Hey Ike, wanna see your new home? Yeah you do. C'mon…" He left the room with Ike trotting after him.

Behind the head table, Liz stood and put on a pout. "I believe I've been stood up," she said with a poorly-concealed smile, and took a huge swing of champagne. The guests got back to partying.

I returned to the table, full of the satisfaction of a job well done. But Ben had to ruin it for me. He's blunt at the best of times, but alcohol had made him downright crude.

"Dog, huh? Good gift. But what you really got him is a replacement kid."

"Nothing can replace a child," I chided him. "… but…" I sighed. "Yes. It's going to be another seven years before he can see them. Twelve years is an awfully long time. Having somebody to care for… even if it's a dog… it should help."

Ben twirled his glass thoughtfully. "So, if he's such a hen, why don't they pop out more kids?"

The champagne I'd been drinking soured in my stomach. A question like that doesn't deserve a response. He was clearly expecting one, though, as if he didn't even realize he had said anything wrong. So I swallowed a snarky comeback and answered honestly. "They can't. Liz's pregnancy was too difficult… another one would be too risky."

"Ah. The old snip-snip," Ben muttered into his glass.

Suddenly, I couldn't bear to look at him a second longer. "Ben, you're drooling." I told him.

He wasn't really – but he was just drunk enough to not be sure. He swabbed at the torn side of his face with a napkin, gave me a narrow-eyed glance, and staggered up to make his way to the bathroom.

I felt guilty and queasy. I shouldn't insult my own agents, especially not in such a childish way. It was the alcohol. The buzz had worn off, and it made me morose. I made my way back over to Liz, hoping some of her good mood would wear off on me.

She was absolutely saturated with optimism. She pulled me down into the seat beside her and leaned her face, flushed with champagne, against my shoulder.

"I'm so happy," she whispered to me.

"I'm glad," I told her, and I meant it. But her mood and her BAC level made her talkative, and she started to babble at me, words slurring.

"It's all working out, Kate. It's okay now. You're the best director ever; did I ever tell you that? This is the best Bureau ever. And I'm safe here, and everyone's gonna be safe here, and I'm gonna be a great mother this time, really, and everyone's gonna work together, and everything's gonna be all right. Isn't it gonna be all right?"

I blamed the alcohol in my blood. Stupid, stupid alcohol. But I couldn't see whatever vision it was she was trying to share with me. I saw a solemn little boy with huge dark eyes and a bandage around his head, and adoption papers, and a file stamped closed. I saw a grim little girl with a tiny suitcase, and a long list of names and locations – so many moving dates. I saw scorch marks on the wall outside the room Hellboy and Liz used to share. I saw cryptic mission reports, full of gaps and half-truths.

But it was Liz's day. I couldn't bring her down with my liquid pessimism. I stroked her hair gently, tenderly, confidently.

"That's right. Everything's going to be all right."


End file.
